


It's Water Under the Bridge, My Love

by 0toybox0



Series: A Bitter Elegy of Broken Hearts [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Fantasy, Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, anyway have fun with this it's a rollercoaster, don't worry it'll all be explained, eldritch horror, lots of in-depth world-building not necessarily explored in LS, road trip adventures, the bitches are yearniiinnggg, there will be gore and blood so heads up, tw: heavy manipulation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28902240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0toybox0/pseuds/0toybox0
Summary: Long after peace has supposedly been restored to Pangea, something powerful stirs.Gabbie doesn't want to be here.Archie has a duty to fulfill.Icarus needs to prove himself.Rat wants something more.Kiara is chasing a long-dead promise.And Clementine just wants to watch the world burn.
Relationships: Archie/Elodie, Icarus & Clementine & Kiara, Kiara/Rat, Road Trip Squad, unrequited Archie/Gabbie
Series: A Bitter Elegy of Broken Hearts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119659
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Setting up for disaster.

###  **_Prologue_ **

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By midnight of the Memorial Celebration, most of the kingdom’s lanterns have fallen from the sky; lifeless debris of royal sentimentality. The remaining few glint against the underbelly of the approaching storm clouds, flickering weakly as they chew up the small bits of oil in their bases.

The Queen of Valhalla stands in the gardens, her gloved hands cupping each and every flower with the gentleness of a mother cradling her child as she looks them over. They’ve all mostly survived the first chill of the approaching winter, though they certainly won’t make it through the next one. Iris knows the bushes will bounce back from the frost, but she can’t help but feel bad for the plants when they die, again and again.

The Queen slowly makes her way through the gardens as stars wink coldly above her head. Her footsteps are quiet and light as she stirs the soft green grass with each stride. Her handmaidens would be horrified if they knew she was up so late when she has meetings that rise with the sun. The Queen had become an expert of sorts at sneaking away from the glittering palace, though, and the handmaidens wouldn’t know anything was amiss.

She finally arrives at the grave. It’s a beautiful thing, for what it’s worth. It rises tall out of the ground, taller than the Queen. On its smooth surface, artistic swords are captured elegantly raised towards the sky. Vines intertwine them, coiling into perfect, curling points, their thick leaves looking as if they were frozen as they blew in the autumn breeze. The tip of the obelisk is adorned with a stone replica of the crown that sits, dusty and dark, in a protected glass chamber in the castle’s basement. The front of the grave has deep words carved in a clean, inoffensive font. The whole thing feels blank, sterile.

She would have hated it.

Iris runs her fingers lightly over the words, murmuring them to herself. The obscure language that once warmed her core to hear sounds too thick and misshapen in her mouth.  _ Un héroe para todos nosotros.  _ A hero for us all.

The sentiment feels so empty. Of course the Queen is aware of the general reaction to her choice in consort. Her wife was mocked, distrusted, and harassed, especially by the very people who signed off on this monument. When the news spread through Valhalla, people frowned and softly spoke their condolences, then smiled behind their hands and whispered that she’d gotten what was coming to her. The gossip spread even between the Queen’s most trusted servants, and after the funeral, no one visited the tall grave in the back of the gardens. No one but Iris.

So wrapped up in her own crashing waves of emotion, the Queen doesn’t notice the rustling of leaves in the rhododendron bushes behind her. She doesn’t notice the two shapes, cloaked in darkness, their colors muffled against the night. She pays no mind as they silently, expertly step out of the safety of cover, approaching her slowly from behind, something scratchy and beige stretched between them.

It happens quicker than she can react to. One of the figures slams their hand over her mouth, pulling her backward against their own powerful form. They yank a ragged piece of cloth tight around her lips, tying it firmly. A glinting knife presses against her throat, stinging the thin skin. The second person holds open the burlap sack, and the two of them wrestle the royal into the bag, their thick arms easily remaining steady even as she kicks and thrashes. The whole ordeal is over in less than a few heartbeats, and then the two figures melt back into the shadows once more, the sack slung over their shoulders.

The night stills. A light wind picks up, tossing leaves across the grass and tapping lightly on the castle windows. In one of the highest towers, a young boy sleeps, peaceful, unaware of what’s to come.


	2. Conscience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clementine gets a visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for graphic description of violence (specifically burning alive)

###  **_Chapter 1: Conscience_ **

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The sun-lights clicked on about an hour ago, and were now slowly whirring to life, their brightness ticking upward incrementally with the rising of the true sun, high above. The soft, almost imperceptible buzzing they make is just a part of the morning routine for everyone living in the expansive emergency bunker. The bunker weaves its way in an endless ouroboros through the dirt deep under the ruined city of Plemond, its rooms stationed in mazelike corridors that curl deeper into themselves like the swirls of a seashell. It was created long, long ago, when the first Nuclear Winter hit. In this bunker, survivors huddled, their bodies slowly mutating thanks to the leaking radiation from the surface.

Now, of course, the bunker is much more reinforced and hospitable. Carpet lines the bedrooms and living rooms. Heating pipes glow dull and red against the walls, keeping the bunker at optimal temperature at all times. In the park, misters click on from the ceiling and provide the illusion of rain with their scheduled pours. And of course, the sun-lights burn ever-bright, their presence just as steady as the real sun’s.

In one of the bunker’s bedrooms -- 562, to be exact -- the electric lights are still turned off and the industrial bunk beds are motionless until a shape on the top bunk rustles and sits. The moving shadow cleaves itself from the bed, landing as silent as a cat on the pads of its feet on the floor. It reaches out a hand into the bottom bunk, squeezing another sleeping figure’s shoulder hard.

Clementine grunts, pressing their pillow down harder over their head. “Jesus, Kiara, I told you not to squeeze so hard.” Their voice rises from the lump of bedding; gravelly, drowsy.

“Ack, sorry! I’ve been working on that.” The light flicks on, and the first figure is revealed. Kiara is a tall girl, built lean and powerful, like a cheetah. Her hair is a frizzing mess of wild strawberry curls, sticking up every which way from sleep. “Are you okay?” She strides forward to plant her hands on the footboard, ducking down to peer into the space the bottom bunk leaves between itself and the top.

“I’m fine,” Clementine grumbles, working their shoulder in a circle, hearing it pop. Their sister has quite a lot of strength on her, and most of the time she has no idea she’s using it.

“Good. Well, hop up, training’s in ten and we need to get breakfast.” Kiara retreats from her peeking, standing up and stretching her well-trained arms over her head. She strides to the closet and pulls the heavy door open, inspecting the clothes on her neatly-partitioned side.

Clementine sits up, their pillow falling away from their face with a dull  _ thump,  _ landing on the carpet. Clem scrubs their face hard with their hands, trying to force the sleep away. They’ve never been a morning person in any sense of the word, but life in the bunkers means they have to be. Though, if it was up to them, they’d be staying up until ungodly hours of the night and sleeping in until noon. Unfortunately, they have Kiara for a sister.

Kiara tosses a neatly folded uniform set at her sibling, and it hits them in the face. “Come  _ on,  _ sleepy-bones, up and at ‘em. I hear they’ve got chocolate banana bread in the canteen today.”

“Delightful, more stale-at-best rations from  _ dinosaur  _ times,” Clem mutters. Kiara turns over her shoulder to give them a pointed look. They hold up their hands in surrender and she carries her clothes to the tiny attached bathroom, locking the door behind her.

Clem wrestles into their uniform -- not the exact same one as always but identical to the other four pairs in their closet -- and slips a yellow band around their right arm. Everyone in the bunker has these bands. The color corresponds to their age group, and then each is printed with a six-digit identifying number. The bands used to be more necessary back when the bunker was in its prime, but now, with the current numbers not reaching more than one hundred-and-two for months, reading someone’s identifier is less and less important. Unfortunately, the combat mentor Ms. Emera is a stickler for protocol. So even as their world falls apart around them, Clementine has to wear this damn armband.

Kiara emerges from the bathroom, makeup applied and morning hair-frizz smoothed. She smiles as she strides over to her sibling, reaching out to pat at their short mess of coppery curls. “You really need to let me fix this sometime.”

Clem pushes her hand away. “Come on, you’re messing with my  _ vibes,  _ Kia.”

Kiara snorts. “Oh, you mean the vibes of a malnourished rat dragged in from a fast food dumpster?”

“That’s exactly it. It’s a delicate process to look this disheveled.” Clem runs their hand through their hair to muss it back up.

Kiara laughs and links their arms together, unlocking the bedroom door and swinging it open. The two siblings walk towards the canteen -- one of the biggest rooms in the bunker and the one nestled in the middle of the looping labyrinth. It used to have a reason to be so big, back when it was full of, you know,  _ people.  _ Now half the lights don’t turn on to conserve power and every step echoes off the abandoned tables in the far corners. It’s a very depressing place, and Clem doesn’t like it. It reminds them of an open mouth with most of its teeth knocked out. They’d much rather eat in their room, but Kiara, ever the social butterfly, always drags them with her.

“Good morning, Joanne,” Kiara greets as she walks to the serving bar at the back of the gaping space. A mangy, foul-tempered old woman hovers behind the bar, a fishnet cap yanking her greying hair away from her constantly-scowling, wrinkled face. A fly buzzes around her head.

“All your friends are already at the arena,” Joanne rasps, giving Kiara a dark glare. Kiara seems to have charmed everyone in the bunker except for crotchety Joanne, and she’s never been okay with that fact; acting as cheery and sugary-sweet as she can around her. It never works.

“Right. We’re a little late. Clem had a hard time waking up.” Kiara smiles dazzlingly at the serving lady. “But we heard something about banana bread and came as quick as we could.”

“We’re out,” Joanne declares with smug satisfaction. “You can eat the leftovers from last night.”

“B-but no one ever leaves leftovers-” Kiara tries to reason.

“ _ Exactly!”  _ Joanne announces. She cackles a dry laugh, like a moth’s wings rubbing together, and slams down the metal shutter, blocking the siblings from accessing the bar.

Kiara stands, mouth opening and closing in shock, as the sharp sound of metal reverberates thousands of times off the tile. “B-but we can’t- we can’t  _ train  _ without proper nutrition-”

“That’s our cue to leave, sunshine,” Clementine butts in. They take Kiara by the hand. “Let’s go, or Ms. Emera’s gonna filet us. And close your mouth. You look like a fish.”

They drag their spluttering sister behind them, through the winding hallways, towards the leftmost area. The training arena is the biggest room down here, originally made as a multipurpose room. However, since people started dying in droves, group movie nights or basketball games just seemed less essential, and the room was converted into a battleground for the younger generations to learn how to defend themselves, should the decision be made to try their luck on the surface.

The two enter the room where their peers are already practicing ripostes against the stuffed burlap sacks mounted on bits of broken pipe, which in turn are jammed haphazardly onto makeshift bases. This wonder of structural integrity means the dummies all have a sort of slant to their bodies, and tend to droop forward in resignation when they’re hit.

“Ah, there you two are.” Ms. Emera’s boots pound on the cold floor as she storms towards them, trusty rapier in hand. She arrives in front of them, eyes cold. “Identification numbers.”

“Come  _ on,  _ Emera-” Clem begins to groan, but they’re cut off with a glare. Emera is a tall, severe woman with a strong jaw and broad shoulders. Her nose is hooked and her eyes slant. Everything on her is  _ sharp _ . She was one of the Forgotten legion’s best fighters, before the war, and she likes to enforce the same rigorous structure onto her pupils that she was forced to endure.

“Number 426236.” Kiara jumps to reply eagerly, her arm snapping into a salute. Clem rolls their eyes. Kiara has had an awkward, baby crush on the powerful woman since she was about thirteen, and it’s insufferable the lengths she’d go to please Emera. Including running through the motions of a system that’s been rotting for a while.

“Thank you, Kiara. Clementine?” Emera turns her icy stare onto Clem once more.

“I’m not gonna say it,” they say flatly.  _ This is ridiculous. _

“Spit it out, recruit!” Emera shouts, leaning right into their personal space.

“Can we just start training, already?”

“Not until I hear those six digits come outta your mouth,” Emera growls, folding her huge arms and leaning back, intending to wait however long she needs to.

Clementine holds her stare for a long moment. Though they may like snarking about and calling everyone out (it’s because they deserve it, frankly), Clem avoids true conflict like the plague. They’re much too bad with social situations where the other person is anything but neutral. So they grit their teeth, clench their fists, and breathe out slowly.

“861750, sir,” they say haltingly.  _ This is so stupid. _

“There we are. Not so hard,” Emera sneers, turning to stride back to the other recruits. “Pick up your swords. We’re doing ripostes.”

Clementine trails Kiara to the weapon wall, where each weapon is hung and labeled. Kiara seems to pick up on their silent seething, as she always does. “She’s just stressed,” she says as she unhooks her sword and Clem’s, handing the latter over. “She’s the last mentor available, after all. That’s gotta be rough.”

“Which is exactly why she should let the routine go,” Clem counters, unsheathing their sword. It’s scratched and battered, and the edge is dull. Clementine, unlike their sister, isn’t fond of combat. They’d much rather read or research something than poke their peers with metal sticks. Hence why their sword is dented and near ruin, while Kiara’s is gleaming and smooth from constant care.

“She’s trying to uphold structure even in hard times. I can respect that.” Kiara shrugs.

“Of  _ course _ you can.”

Kiara throws them a withering glare, then breezes over to join the busy recruits. They look up from their training and greet her with shouts and grins and laughter, joking about something that happened at dinner last night that Clem didn’t bother to pay attention to. They watch the group for a moment, letting themself feel bad. It’s… completely their own fault they’re so isolated. From the first day they arrived in the bunkers, clinging to their mother’s leg, shivering and sobbing out for the other mother they’d just watched die, they’d been a loner. As a kid, they were jumpy and quick to cry, earning them a solid spot as the bunker-wide pinata. After the other children got bored of them within a few years, they retreated to the library for most of their days to read and daydream. The other children forgot about them, except as another face in the crowd they skipped over. Junior training came and went, and Clem remained friendless, wandering, watching cliques form and fall with blank neutrality. The only connections that remained by the beginning of senior training were those of their sister and mother. And, well. Then their mother died, and their world shrunk by half.

But despite their detached, faintly spiteful attitude towards their fellow teenagers, Clementine can’t help but be… lonely, sometimes. Sure, they have Kiara, and she talks enough for a battalion. But… it would be nice to talk to some other people about new things. Not the same old ground they’ve tread plenty of times with their sister. Something fresher.

“ _ Recruit _ .” Emera’s voice jolts Clem out of their wallowing and they turn around. She’s hulking behind them, scowling. “Get in there and find yourself a damned sparring partner.” She stomps off, muttering something about  _ giving her a headache _ and  _ self-entitled child of royalty. _

Clementine watches her go, narrowing their eyes slightly, then they turn back to the arena. They step closer, silent, on the outskirts of the bantering crowd. They clear their throat once. No response. They give a much clearer try of it, which makes some people turn around and shut up. “Hey, Emera says to start sparring together.”

The group registers their words dully, still laughing and chattering as they break into pairs and give weak, giggle-interrupted tries at the activity. Kiara finds a partner in Laney Novak, her best friend since junior training. So that’s Clem’s only comfortable option gone. Everyone else seems to have paired up just as quickly. Ms. Emera notices this and bellows, “One of y’all, come fight Clementine. I’ll fight your partner.”

Nobody moves. A couple people glance over at Clem, then glance away. No one wants to pair up with the smart-ass, wisecracking child of a tyrannical empire, after all. This is a very common problem with group activities for Clem. No one seems to give two shits that Kiara has the same “evil” blood -- more, even. Clementine knows why. Kiara was too young to really remember their other mother. The red-haired, freckled woman with warm eyes and long hugs that Kiara herself looks so much like. The gentle, doting mother who would kiss the tiniest of scrapes better and gently bandage them with soft hands. Kiara doesn’t have the memories so gripped in aching grief that she would fight anyone who said anything bad about her mother. She doesn’t have the attachment that tethers Clem’s gut to a home that’s no longer there. And that’s more palatable than the tearful, angry child screaming for their mother nearly every night until they were ten.

Emera points at a spindly, dark-haired boy. “You there. Go on.” She jerks her thumb in Clem’s direction. The boy glowers but obeys, plodding heavily over to where Clementine stands. He holds up his sword and Clem does the same. They bow to each other, and then  _ lunge, parry, thrust, parry, parry, riposte, slash, dodge  _ and on and on.

The monotony of trained combat is mind-numbing. The same four or five moves, repeated politely and clumsily until it’s called off. Clem becomes more and more stolid, just blocking the boy’s jabs where they’re meant to block them and slicing when they’re meant to slice.

Their vision starts to pop and fizzle in the corners, and their ears begin to ring. The change is slow enough that they don’t notice it, not right away. The ringing gets louder, blocking out the sounds of the arena. The static in their vision deftly covers most of the background, turning it into nothing but bubbling colors. Their partner slowly begins to change, as well. His skin starts to redden, and Clem dismisses it as exertion. But it keeps getting  _ redder,  _ and soon boils push themselves to the surface, large and angry. Clementine tries to step back, to open their mouth and tell the boy what’s going on, but they can’t move from their practiced swings and parries. The boy doesn’t seem to notice as the boils burst, oozing blood and pus, and new ones rise in their place. Soon, the skin starts to peel away in thick rolls, revealing redder skin underneath. That peels away too, until the boy’s skin is  _ melting, melting,  _ sliding to the floor like too-loose clothes, revealing exposed muscle beneath. The boy keeps moving in the robotic dance of combat, and Clem just keeps blocking him, their jaw seemingly wired shut against any scream they might make. Only when a reddened, horrific creature remains, radiating heat and the stench of burning flesh is Clem able to scream.

They stumble back, sword raised protectively, screwing their eyes shut against the grotesque sight. They hear someone shouting their name, over and over, louder and louder, until-

“Clementine Dante, what the hell is going on?” Emera grabs Clem’s shoulders and shakes them, once, rough. They open their eyes with a gasp, only able to see their mentor’s off-put, irritated face. They lean around her and-

There he is. The boy. He’s…  _ fine _ . All his skin is intact, and he wears a shell-shocked, deeply confused expression. Clementine’s head reels. “I- I don’t- how-”

And then it hits them.

_ She’s awake. _

It’s been so long since **she** was awake. She’d gone into slumber two years ago, right after Clem’s mom had died, slurring out promises of greatness and destiny once she awoke. Since then, Clem’s mind has been their own. No cold fingers on their neck, no whispers in their ear, no… _visions._ They’d thought, stupidly, that maybe she’d stay away forever. They were wrong. They’re always wrong about **her**.

“I- I have to go,” they stutter out, stumbling away from Emera’s grip. They clutch at their chest, where their heart flutters like a tortured bird in a predator’s claws. They drop their sword with a  _ clang.  _ “I-I have-”

They turn, racing for the arena’s double doors. They can hear Kiara shouting their name and Emera bellowing threats if she doesn’t get an explanation, but they slam out of the doors all the same and sprint down the halls to their room, their breath coming shallower and shallower. They make it to 562 and slam the door behind them, deadbolting it. Their vision fuzzes again and they make it two steps before everything turns black.

♟

Clementine wakes to someone combing their hair gently. They slowly, painfully open their eyes. They’re not in the bunker anymore. In fact -- they recognize with a start -- they’re in the palace again. Their childhood room comes into focus, with its baby blue wallpaper printed with rubber ducks and their small bed covered by a downy purple blanket. An assortment of beloved toys lay scattered about the floor, and when they look down, they’re holding their strawberry-scented teddy bear, its fur still soft and untarnished by the bomb that dropped on the palace so many years ago.

They hear humming from the person who brushes their hair (longer and more well-kept than their current mop), and something prickles in their chest. It’s their  _ mother.  _ They know it like they know each one of their fingers and toes. Tears push their way to the surface and soon they’re sniffling, their voice that of themself at five. A small, surprised noise comes from their mother, and she leans forward, pressing a kiss to the crown of their head.

“Oh no, my love, don’t cry,” she murmurs, setting down the brush and shifting them around to look at her. Seeing her face, alive and bright, just makes the tears come harder. Clementine lets themself get wrapped up in her embrace, hiccuping against her shoulder as she strokes their hair. “Shh, shh,” she soothes. “There’s no need for tears, now. After all, aren’t you glad to see me again?”

Clementine has no words, but they can nod, their small fingers curling into her shawl, desperate not to let go. They whimper and bury their nose against her chest, breathing in the familiar smell of warmth and cinnamon and  _ home. _

“Good.” Their mother’s voice seems to… freeze. It gets icier, less flickering fireplace and more hovering blizzard. Her grip on them tightens, and her hands feel too cold. Confused, Clementine tries to pull back, but she has them tight. “I was getting worried you wouldn’t miss me.” Her voice drops to a terrible whisper; a weak imitation of her real voice.

Clem can finally push away from her and look up. They gasp and jump backwards, out of her lap, heart hammering in their throat and small legs unsteady.

Smiling back at them is not their mother. It’s  **her.**

“Oh, darling, that’s no way to treat your mummy,” she pouts, spreading her arms. “Come back and let me hold you.”

“I knew it was you,” Clementine says shakily. Their voice is so young, so fragile. “You sent me that vision in the arena, didn’t you?”

“That would be me,” she hummed, folding her hands in her lap. “It’s always me.”

Clementine looks around the room. This memory was their safest space. But now it’s awash in sickly green light, the shadows sharp and dangerous. They didn’t think  **she’d** have the capability to come so deep, into somewhere she’d never touched before.

“I told you I would return, and you know I never break a promise to you,” she says, blinking her slightly hurt gaze at them. “You don’t seem happy to see me.”

“I certainly wasn’t happy to see a person’s skin melted off,” they respond icily.

She makes a  _ tah _ sound. “Oh, you know I don’t control what you see. You see something random on a long timeline of events. I have no say in the matter.”

Clem knows this, but they still glare at her. “What about this?” They gesture around their room.

“Ah, an intelligent question. This is your mind. I’m not in the physical world; I’m not showing you a vision. This is simply something preconstructed I have inserted myself into. I cannot conjure images of my own,” she explains calmly.

Clementine crosses their small arms and looks at her closely. “So… you’re back after all.”

“What, did you think I’d just abandon you?” Her lips twitch in a smile.

“No, but… I didn’t really…” they trail off, staring at the soft carpet.

“Believe in my integrity?” she suggests. Clem looks up, grimacing guiltily. But she waves them off. “No, I understand. After all, hasn’t everyone else left you?” She says this gently, but it still stings. She stands, gliding over to Clem’s small form. She places a cold hand on their head. “No worries. I’m here now, and I intend to help you in my biggest way yet.”

Clementine looks up, uncertainty flickering on their face. “But all your other plans haven’t worked.”

She laughs, loud and sharp. “Oh, Clementine, always calling me out on everything I do. Would it kill you to be a little more forgiving?” She smiles and pinches both their cheeks. They push her off.

“I’m serious. What’s changed now that wasn’t there two years ago?”

“Has it really been that long?” she muses, staring out the window. “Time is such a fickle thing.”

“ _ Ahem _ .”

“Right.” The spirit gathers herself. “I don’t know if you know this, but when I dream, I’m able to walk new realms. Hence going to sleep in the first place. I traveled for a while, searching for something to assist us in our endeavours. I believe I’ve finally found it.”

“What is it?” Clem asks, their tone a mix of eagerness and suspicion. It’s often how they speak to the spirit.

She tuts. “Uh-uh-uh. That’s a surprise. But I hope you realize I’m serious this time. If this goes according to plan, you could finally claim the power you were destined for and revive your parents.” She casts them a glance. “Of course, it will only go smoothly if you trust me.”

Clementine stares back at her for a moment. They quietly walk towards where their teddy bear fell and gingerly pick it up. They push aside the long fur on its neck to reveal a small necklace with a tiny, glittering charm. It’s an iris flower; the flower their mother got her name from. She gave it to them to always remember her by. They still wear it, though now it only fits as a bracelet.

Their mind slips back to the memory they were just in. The dozens more just like it, coated in honeyed light and warmth. As they stare down at that glinting charm, they know, just like they’d known with a passion two years ago, that they’d do anything to have her again. To hug her, to listen to her sing, to hold her hand. It’s been twelve years since she died, and every moment has felt like the blank space where Clem’s life  _ should _ be.

“So, what do you say?” The spirit’s voice coils around them like smoke, seeming to come from inside their head and outside all at once.

They turn around after a long beat, their expression determined. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”

The spirit smiles.


	3. Pyre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiara tries to help. A fire breaks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: fire i guess?? minor character death but it isn't graphic or anything

###  **_Chapter 2: Pyre_ **

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Kiara stands in the training arena, still, holding her breath, as if stirring the very air might hurt her. Her knuckles are white against the handle of her sword, and she’s staring towards the doors her sibling just crashed out of. She’s dimly aware of the chatter of the other recruits around her, but she pays them no mind.

Something is obviously very, very wrong. Clementine hasn’t freaked out like that in forever. How long has it been since their last vision? Two years? That’s about right, she thinks. Yeah, nothing has happened since Mom… died. Kiara swallows that particular line of thought before it can burn her up inside. It’s how she’s been coping for the past while. It’s very effective, if she does say so herself.

Ms. Emera is at her side, her voice sounding distant as Kiara sorts through her thoughts and tries to remember what it is she’s supposed to  _ do  _ now… “Kiara!”

She shakes herself back to focus, looking up at the lizard woman with a wide-eyed look she doesn’t manage to smooth out right away. She manages to get a handle on her emotions in a few seconds, though, and smiles. “Yes, sir?”

“What the hell’s up with 861750?” she asks angrily. Her hands are shaking, (with rage? surprise? worry?), and her sharp gaze bores into her star pupil.

“Um…” Kiara shoots a glance back at the doors. On the way there, she catches sight of the other recruits, staring at her with wide, concerned expressions. Laney mouths  _ what’s up?  _ and Kiara just lightly shakes her head before turning back to her mentor. She clears her throat. “Right. So, uh, that was a… Clem has this… thing? Okay, wait, gimme a second.” She sheathes her sword and rubs her temple, clicking her words into place like a bunch of scattered puzzle pieces. “Clementine is sick, I think, and when they’re… sick… they see things. That’s why they, um. Ran.”

The explanation isn’t very succinct, but Kiara isn’t to blame for that. She barely knows what happens to her sibling when they get their ‘visions.’ She’s seen it, many times, of course, but Mom always handled it. Guided Clem away as the screaming got too loud or they started scratching things. Then once she died, Clem’s visions stopped. Kiara’s never had to deal with one alone.

But she should. Clem’s her  _ sibling. _ Kiara’s all they have left. If they’re hurting, she needs to be there, even if she doesn’t know how.  _ Even if they hurt her again. _ She tries, fruitlessly, to ignore the flashbulb of memory that comes with that train of thought. The hands around her throat, the claws digging into her skin, the way her heartbeat sent earthquakes through her ribs. The very palpable, messy, sick feeling she was going to die. Then Mom’s screaming voice, Clementine’s tear-streaked face, a cold cloth on her forehead.

Kiara jolts herself away from the dark memory as fast as she can, feeling like her brain tears from the force. She swallows hard, and she can hear Emera speaking again, but for once she isn’t listening. She cuts Ms. Emera off in the middle of a sentence, then makes a mental note to apologize about that later, “I’m so sorry. I have to make sure they’re alright. I just… I’ll make up the training time later, promise, I gotta…” She doesn’t finish as she turns on her heel and scoots past the worried hands and faces of her peers, breaking through and dashing for the doors.

She pushes out of them and makes sure they don’t slam behind her, then picks up her pace and speedwalks down the halls, even though there’s an explicit rule not to move too quickly, for fear of injury to yourself or others in the claustrophobic space. But no one’s in sight, and though guilt clenches her gut, she breaks into a run.

She reaches room 562 and knocks. Nothing. She knocks again, then again, then a fourth time. Still emptiness greets her. She reaches down to the door handle and twists, only to find it locked tight. She rattles the knob a few times, then pounds the door with her palm. “Clem! Clementine! Hey! It’s me!” More silence. “T-this is my room too, y’know!” she calls. When her sibling still doesn’t reply, Kiara gives the door a frustrated bang with her fist and turns, thumping her back against it. What now? If Clementine doesn’t want to talk to her, how can she help them fight their demons and get back to training? Oh, she’s  _ such _ a terrible sister. Mom told her to take care of Clem before she died, and she can’t even do that.

Kiara stands there, against the door, for what could be minutes or hours, she doesn’t know. There isn’t exactly an excess of clocks around here. She finally pushes herself completely upright and starts walking.

Her feet carry her without her conscious effort, through the twisting, turning corridors of metal, echoing with each of her heavy steps, until she arrives at the room that provides her with both the most comfort and the most turmoil in this place. Dumb, how it can contradict itself like that and mess with her brain. She wishes it would make up its mind and either make her feel happy or terrible.

The graveyard doesn’t actually look much like a graveyard. That’s what the adults are always saying. Kiara wouldn’t know. She lived on the surface for a grand total of five years, so. Not a lot of experience to draw from. The room is smaller than one would expect, and doesn’t even have fake grass installed like the park or the agriculture rooms. The walls are lined with small, identical locked drawers. Each one has a plate with a name, birth date, and death date. Inside the drawers are the ashes of whoever the name belonged to. You can’t exactly bury a body in metal, so everyone is cremated when they die. Besides, saves space not to have any bodies. The small urns of ash can be sealed away in a tiny drawer no longer and deeper than Kiara’s fingertips to wrist.

The walls are covered with plates. There are even some that are beginning to spread to the floor like a disease. Kiara makes her way to one of them, no bigger or fancier than the rest, and stops. She stares at the name.  _ Tara Dante.  _ Birth date: 3842. Death date: 3878. 36 years old. Kiara is only 16, but she can recognize how short her mother’s life really was. She reaches up to the plate, running her thumb over the letters. This is all that remains of a person who used to burn so brightly. Kiara had believed, as a little kid, that her mother was invincible. How could someone so strong die? It didn’t seem possible, up until the moment it happened.

Kiara leans forward just slightly to thunk her forehead against the plate. She closes her eyes, letting herself be upset, for just a minute. She usually doesn’t allow herself to feel negative emotions. It isn’t productive. Besides, Clem feels enough negative emotions for the whole bunker combined. Kiara has always been the stable sibling. She’s always been the one with no issues, there to support Clem and whatever breakdown they have that week. Kiara is supposed to be a pillar of strength. So she keeps her nasty emotions away and does her duty just like she’s supposed to.

But every now and then, she remembers something about Mom -- the way she gave the best hugs, or cheered the very loudest for Kia at her soccer games, or spoke gently to her when she had a nightmare -- and she just breaks apart. She shatters into a bunch of sharp pieces and can’t drag herself back into a human shape for hours afterward.

Still leaning her head against the makeshift grave, Kiara swings her arms loosely and stares down at her feet. She clears her throat. “Mom…?” No answer, because duh, but she keeps talking. “Hey again. I know I haven’t visited in a while. I’ve been doing better lately. Lots of… stuff to keep me busy.” She swallows and continues. “A-anyway, today something happened. Clem is having another vision, I think, and I don’t know what to do.” She squeezes her eyes shut in a futile attempt to keep any tears from coming. “You never exactly taught me how to handle these. But I guess you didn’t know you wouldn’t be around to help.” She wraps her arms around herself, squeezing her upper arms. “I don’t know how to help them. I never stayed around to watch once the screaming started. I don’t even know what they… see.”

She pushes herself away from the wall to rock back on her heels and stare at the grave for a few heartbeats. “I just wish-” Her breath catches on a lump of tears and she tips her head backward, trying to  _ suck  _ the tears straight back into her face. She can _ not  _ cry. She has things to do. Besides, she’ll smudge her mascara, and won’t be able to get into her locked room to fix it. Everyone will see, and know she’s a fraud who isn’t really happy, just faking it, and- god. She stops and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand as gingerly as she can.

“I just wish you were here,” she finishes simply, voice wobbly and resigned. “But when do I not?” She laughs painfully, scuffing the toe of her shoe against the metal floor. She stands there for what could be minutes or hours, she doesn’t know. But she eventually straightens up once her stomach starts complaining and heads for the canteen for lunch with a quiet, resigned goodbye to Mom.

Clementine isn’t here, but she wasn’t really expecting them to be. It still sends a cold drip of concern through her core, though. Laney spots her and waves her over, her face pinched in concern. When Kiara sits beside her, Laney tackles her in a massive hug and squeezes tight. “Oh my gods, girly, we’re all so worried about you!”

Kiara forces herself to laugh lightly and squeeze her friend back. “I know, I know, I’m sorry I scared you guys.” Laney relinquishes her and she looks around at her other friends, all watching her with varying levels of worry. “I got it handled, though. I’m totally cool now.”

“Thank goodness. Farran was about to go looking for you,” Janus informs her as she pokes at the limp green beans on her scruffed-up tray.

Farran turns pink and shrugs. “I was just worried,” he mumbles. Kiara gives him a brief, grateful smile, but it’s really all she can manage at the moment.

“So, how was the rest of training?” Kiara asks breezily, digging into the tray her friends had set out at her place.

Laney launches into a detailed play-by-play of everything that happened after Kiara left, and Ms. Emera’s confused, angry, swear-addled rant afterwards. Laney’s endless chattering is something Kiara loves about her best friend, but she still starts zoning out despite her best efforts to stay engaged. She’s making affirmative sounds when it’s required and moving her food around her plate, but she’s not really there. Not until Ophelia catches her eye and raises her eyebrows, mouthing the words  _ ‘everything okay?’ _

Kiara shakes herself out of her funk and stuffs a bunch of casserole in her mouth, then nods. Then follows it with a shrug. Ophelia smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, and maybe Kiara should tell her more later. Ophelia and Clem used to be really close when they were kids, all the way up until last year. Then they had some big falling out Kiara wasn’t privy to, but it’s clear Ophelia at least still cares. Clem doesn’t talk about her anymore, but Ophelia is frequently asking Kiara how her sibling is faring these days. Maybe Ophelia knows more about Clem’s visions than Kiara does. Maybe she can help.

Kiara mouths back that they’ll talk later, then manages to tune back in just as Laney is finishing up her story and hop onto the waves of conversation at the table once more. The teenagers’ laughter and chatter bounces around the empty space until the last light turns off and Joanne shoos them all out.

Kiara should be heading back to the arena to make up the training time she missed, but she’s heading back towards her room instead. She told her friends she’d be busy for the next while, and then promised she’d come to their weekly trashy movie night in Laney’s room. When she arrives at 562, it’s unlocked, and she pushes her way inside anxiously. “Clem?”

But all the lights are off and the room is empty. Clem’s blanket and pillow are tossed haphazardly off the side of their bed, and their jacket is missing. Hm. They must have… gone out on a walk? But Clem doesn’t really  _ do  _ walks. When they’re upset they make a fort of pillows and blankets in the center of the room and read for hours, not go out and get some air. And with them having a crisis, it wouldn’t be good for them to be out and about without help.

Kiara swallows the buzzing anxiety building in her chest and slowly sits down on Clementine’s bed, wringing her hands in her lap. She doesn’t even know where to start. Where would her hermit of a sibling even go? The library, maybe? But Kiara had learned a long time ago that the library was where Clem went to be alone, and they hated getting their space infringed upon. They might start throwing things at her.

But. They don’t know how to handle their emotions most of the time. Kiara loves her sibling dearly, but she’s very aware that their handle on what they’re feeling is weak at best and problematic at worst. They tend to need a guiding presence to help them along as they sort through their feelings, and Kiara’s very good at listening to other people. She’s definitely going to go help them. Determined, she lifts her chin and stands, smacks her head on the top bunk, curses, gathers herself, and marches out the door.

She’s so set on her mission that she barely notices the tinge of warmth in the air or the slowly rising smell of gasoline. She rounds corners and searches rooms as she passes them, just in case her sneaky sibling’s hiding out somewhere else. She finally reaches the library and shoulders the door open into the dusty room. It’s empty and dark. No Clem in clear view, but Kiara knows them better than that. She crosses the room to a shelf, gripping a book and tugging, the book serving as a handle to a hidden door. Behind the shelf is a small space filled with blankets and pillows. Assorted books and charts are scattered around, and string lights drape across the whole space. Mom built this space for Clem when they were only about seven, and it’s been their hideout since.

But now, no one’s inside. On the biggest beanbag, though, there’s a… map? Kiara moves closer to look. It’s a blueprint of the piping in the bunker. Huh. Kiara knows Clem likes to learn about everything they possibly can, but this is… weird. Why are they interested in the bunker’s piping, of all things? They’ve never cared that much about construction or anything.

Maybe there’s something secret in the map? Clem does love their mysteries, encoded things, and secrets. Kiara stole their journal once, forever ago, but found that she couldn’t read a word of it. It’d all been thoroughly encoded. Most of their personal stuff is. So maybe they’d put something else in this map, or had been trying to crack a secret code. Kiara bends to pick the blueprint up, squinting at it. It’s all written in regular old Common. Nothing cryptic so far. She turns to hold up the paper to the light, trying to see if there’s anything hidden inside the page. Still nothing.

Kiara is jolted out of her snooping by the robotic speech of the bunker warning system crackling over the speakers. “ _ This is an automated warning message. Fatal leaks have been discovered in the bunker’s gas system. Fire is currently burning in the SECOND QUADRANT and spreading. Citizens are advised to evacuate swiftly.” _

Shocked, Kiara tosses the map back into the nook and swings the door shut, turning on her heel. She can smell smoke now, and her heart jumps into her throat. She rushes from the library, panicked. She’s got to find Laney, and Clementine, and everyone else. She can hear people screaming, and others barking out commands. She skids around a corner and is greeted with the sight of the boiler room in flames. She stares in horror, the heat from the fire pushing sweat down her forehead. The corridor is hazy with smoke, and someone rushes past her clutching a screaming toddler to their chest. Kiara backs away from the boiler room and races after them.

Kiara slams into someone, and Commander Cassia whirls around. “You! Kid! You’re tough, right?” Kiara barely stutters out a reply before Cassia plows onward. “Find as many people as you can and get them running in the right direction.” She shakes her head and mutters to herself, “I knew the circular design of this hellhole was a terrible idea.” She darts off into the smoke behind Kiara.

Kiara tears her arm band free and ties it snugly around her mouth and nose to ward off the smoke, then turns to move down the hallways. She runs into plenty of frantic people and redirects them towards the exit, shouting reassurances and helping people carry anything they want to salvage.

She’s starting to get dizzy from the smoke inhalation, and she’s sweating through her clothes. She can barely see through the smoke, and the bunker speaker drones on and on, a backtrack to the screams of the people. Kiara passes a lump sprawled on the ground and screeches to a halt, bending down. She can see now that it’s --

“Farran!” she gasps. Kiara reaches out and shakes his shoulder, shouting his name. There’s no reply. She’s about to roll him over and start CPR when someone grabs her arm.

She looks up and Ophelia’s there, tears streaming down her face. “We have to go, Kiara,” she says in her ever-gentle voice. “Please. The flames-”

“No! What about- what about Farran?” Kiara wrenches her arm free, pressing down rapidly on Farran’s chest, trying to keep count but stumbling every time.

“Kiara!” Ophelia says, sharper now, crouching down beside her. “We can’t do anything for him now. Come on,  _ please _ .”

Kiara stops doing chest compressions but she doesn’t stand. Ophelia takes her by the upper arm and drags her to her feet. The two of them set off stumbling through the corridors, Ophelia coughing into her elbow. The open door is in sight, and the two girls trip and fumble towards it. With a final burst, they push out into the outside air and keep running.

They’re… in a city. Plemond, Kiara thinks. Mom told a few stories about her childhood here, but she didn’t like to talk about it much. The place is crumbling, dirty, covered in broken glass and bullet shells and rotting wood. There are no plants in sight, and everything is smoggy and black. Kiara barely has time to dimly register that this is her first time on the surface since she was five years old. Ophelia stops and lets Kiara’s hand fall. They’ve arrived at a gaggle of people, all coughing and fearful and pained. They’re all staring in one direction, and Kiara turns over her shoulder.

The bunker is ablaze. It would be sort of beautiful if it wasn’t the end of everything Kiara has ever known. The flames lick the air like a starving predator, their deep crimson giving way to lighter shades as it travels upwards. Sparks fling themselves at the sky and then die and plummet to settle in a thin film of ash over the ground. Kiara can still feel the heat from here.

The whole thing won’t be destroyed. Most of it is made of metal. However, everything that isn’t steel will be ash in an hour. Everything Kiara’s gathered, all the pieces of her life. Her childhood stuffed animals. Her uniforms. Her blankets, sheets, pillows. Her old magazines she’s read over and over.

Her mother’s room.

The room she’d left untouched after Mom’s death. The bed and all its dressings, the wardrobe and the clothes that still smelled like her, the chocolate carpet from their homemade s’mores, the letters she’d received from Kiara’s other mother over so many years. All of it dust.

A sob wrenches itself out of Kiara’s chest and she sinks to her knees, wrapping her arms around herself and crumpling into a tight ball. She sobs and sobs, unable to control it this time. She can’t hold her breath and wait for this to pass. This is her whole  _ world,  _ crumbling before her eyes. She hiccups and wails, and she can hear other people crying out behind her, but she doesn’t pay them any attention as her mind flits over every bit of a life destroyed. All those pieces, all those rooms she knew so well.  _ Gone, gone, gone. _

“Kiara,” a voice says softly to her left. She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t think she can. “Kia, hey, Kia.” Arms wrap around her middle and gently tug her upright into a sitting position. Kiara looks over and sees her sibling through the tears and smoke blurring her vision. They thankfully seem mostly unharmed; their jacket cuff is just singed and they smell like gasoline and heat. They’re watching her with a deep frown.

Kiara hiccups another sob and flings her arm around their shoulders, burying her face against their jacket. The smell of fire is even worse closer up, but she doesn’t care. She just needs to hold onto something familiar. Clem hesitates for a heartbeat, then returns the embrace, whispering something Kiara doesn’t have the energy to focus on. Kiara digs her nails into their back and just lets herself fall to pieces. This is the hardest she’s cried since Mom died. Clem just holds on, even though she’s definitely gunking up their shirt with her tears.

Once she’s starting to calm down bit by bit, her throat tight and head pounding, Clementine leans their face into her hair. She sniffles, weaker and more desperate than she ever intended, “What do we do now?”

“Now,” Clementine says lowly, their grip tightening around her, “I fix this.”


	4. Orphan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabbie and Icarus get their worlds rattled.

###  **_Chapter 3: Orphan_ **

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It was a peaceful morning until Icarus got involved, but that was true about most things.

Gabbie is drifting in and out of sleep, comfortable under her pile of blankets and pillows even though it’s late. The Memorial Celebration tires everyone in the kingdom out, especially introverted sheep girls. She watches through half-lidded eyes as sunlight nudges through the curtains, speckling her floor with golden morning light. She rolls onto her back, dimly aware of a banging sound at the door a floor below. Mama and Avery would be at work by now, so no one would be calling for them. Gabbie only has one friend, and he’d been letting himself in since he was a toddler. Maybe it’s a package she has to sign for?

“I’m coming,” she mumbles through layers of sleep, rolling out in a bundle of blankets and barely catching herself on her feet. She shakes the blankets free and pulls a robe on, then shuffles into the hall and down the stairs. The pounding doesn’t cease until the moment she pulls the door open.

Gabbie’s startled to see two palace guards positioned outside her door, their faces not betraying anything. One still has their fist raised to knock, but lowers it and steps back when the door opens. “Lady Gabbie,” one of the guards says, giving a curt bow at the waist. “Your parents have sent for you. There’s been an emergency.”

_ That _ jolts Gabbie fully awake. “An emergency?”

“Your parents are both fine,” the other guard assures, “but they want to make sure you are as well. You are to come at once. We’ll escort you.”

“Of course, right, yes.” Gabbie takes a step back. “Come in and give me five minutes.”

She dresses in a flurry, smoothing her curls back into a more presentable ponytail and stabbing it full of bobby pins. She wrestles into her shoes and then hurries back down the stairs to meet the silent guards. They dip their heads at her, then turn and exit the house as Gabbie pulls the door closed behind her.

The walk to the castle is swift and silent. Neither guard strikes up conversation, and Gabbie prefers not to make small talk if it isn’t required. The guards greet their fellows posted at the door, and there seems to be many more than usual. Once inside, it becomes very apparent something is wrong. Guards and staff swarm through the hallways in bustling, frantic, shouting knots, barking orders or wailing cries of concern. Gabbie tries to assess the situation herself, looking around the place. No structural damage, it seems. So there doesn’t seem to have been an attack. So why all the security?

“Gabbie, there you are.” She looks up to hear her mother’s relieved voice as the royal scientist maneuvers deftly through the crowd. She reaches Gabbie and folds her into a tight hug.

“ _ Oof-  _ hi, Mama,” Gabbie says into her mom’s shoulder. When the deer woman releases her, Gabbie blinks up at her. “What’s going on?”

Mama’s face is grave, and she squeezes Gabbie’s shoulders. “Come, I’m discussing that with the council right this moment.” She nods to Gabbie’s escorting guards to dismiss them, then steers her daughter through throngs of people to the council room.

The room is full of concerned counselors and their simple robes, chattering in low voices to each other, faces ranging from concern to terror. Gabbie spots Avery speaking with an old chancellor and they give her a relieved smile. She gives them a quick smile in return, but she can’t hold it for long with all the worry buzzing around this room.

Mama approaches Prince Will, who’s standing at the head of the table and looking very… blank as he stares down at a map of Pangea spread before him. She whispers something to him and he catches Gabbie’s eye, briefly, then looks back down. The Prince nods, rubbing his forehead slowly, a heavy sort of slump to his shoulders. He straightens up and cracks his knuckles one by one, then clears his throat in that royal way that makes the room fall silent.

“So, seeing as you’re all gossipping like schoolkids about it, I get the idea you’ve all heard about the state of our Queen,” he starts. Gabbie shuffles backward towards the wall and melts into the shadows in the way she’s so good at, watching the Prince with rapt attention. This is about the  _ Queen? _

“Unfortunately, it’s not just rumors. She went missing sometime last night. We sent out search parties as soon as she didn’t return to her chambers, but so far we’ve come up blank.” Will clears his throat, seemingly struggling to force more words out. His husband Sir Lucas places a hand over his and the Prince continues. “We have reason to believe it was under similar circumstances as Queen Consort Tara’s disappearance seven years ago.”

That sends the room into uproar. Counselors shout and talk over each other. Gabbie seems to freeze in place. The Queen is  _ missing?  _ How could it have even happened? Sure, it happened once, nearly a decade ago, and sent the entire kingdom into uproar. But since then security has tightened and the Queen was especially looked out for. How could she have just vanished?

Prince Will clears his throat again, but it doesn’t work, so he claps once, a harsh, loud sound. The counselors quiet once more. “A _ hem. _ Thank you. Now, we’ll continue to search for her, of course. But though I hate to say it, the search will have to cease if no clues are found in two months time, same as any other case.” He mutters to himself, one of the snarky asides he’s known so well for, “Whoever came up with  _ that  _ rule likely didn’t have a single empathetic bone in their body, but whatever.”

Oka butts in before the royal starts cursing out the justice system. “I know how much we all adore our Queen, and we’re all incredibly worried for her. We’ve set our best detectives on the case, and they’ll surely pursue any leads best they can. We all hope she’ll return to us safe and sound.”

The room is mostly silent, save for a few whispering counselors and two or three people crying softly. Gabbie opens her mouth to speak, despite knowing very well she isn’t supposed to talk in these meetings. “What’s going to happen until the two months are up? And afterward?”

Will looks up at her, but his eyes are distant, as if he doesn’t truly see her. “Great question. Protocol says a regency reigns until the royal’s declared dead, then the heir takes the throne.”

“The heir…” Gabbie says slowly. It clicks and she gasps. “That’s-”

“Crown Prince Icarus, correct.” Will slides into his seat with a thunk. “Unfortunately it would go straight to him, despite him only being twelve. My sister didn’t quite get around to reworking the tangles and tangles of inheritance laws,” he says pointedly, glaring around at all the counselors. Some have the decency to look shameful. Will heaves a sigh. “In any case, yes, my nephew inherits the throne in two months if all isn’t well by then.” He quirks an eyebrow and a sarcastic smirk. “No pressure.”

Gabbie is staring at a spot on the wall above the Prince’s head.  _ Icarus  _ taking the throne isn’t something she’s thought about very much. The young boy has always been a prince, of course, but the day he’d have to take over always seemed so distant. His mother was perfectly healthy and young, and Icarus was just a kid. Is  _ still  _ just a kid. He’s not even in his teens yet.

As Will starts to discuss arranging a regency with the counselors, Gabbie slips around the backs of the chairs to her mother’s side. “Mama, where’s Icarus?” she whispers.

“He should still be in his room, I believe. Though I don’t know if I’d advise going inside. He tore it to shreds when he heard the news,” Mama whispers back.

“I can handle one of the Prince’s tantrums,” Gabbie says in an attempt at humor, but it falls sort of flat thanks to the situation. “I’m just gonna check on him.” She gives her mother a kiss on the cheek, then hurriedly leaves the council room, which is increasing in volume.

Gabbie climbs the long, ornate, winding stairs to Icarus’ room on the top floor. Staff members rush past her, but she pays them no mind. She trails down the hallway Icarus’ room lies at the end of, slowing as she passes the open door to the Queen’s chambers.

She’s been inside a few times, of course, with so many connections to the royal family, but she was always too anxious about touching anything and getting it dirty to really take it in. The carved door is ajar now, showing off the interior. It’s surprisingly modest, with not more extravagant bits of furniture than necessary. There are bookshelves stuffed to the brim, maps from many different eras and places tacked to the walls, and a cluttered writing desk. The bed is large and comfortable, of course, but it’s not populated by throw pillows or glittering finery at all. It’s simply covered by a handmade quilt, which seems like it hasn’t been disturbed since the maids made it up the morning before.

Gabbie’s eyes travel to the large portrait hanging above the bed. It’s one of the royal couple and a brand-new Icarus. All three of them look so happy it makes Gabbie’s chest hurt. Figures that nothing so good would be allowed to just exist. The universe just had to go and tear it all up. It has a way of doing that to things you love.

A servant bumps her as they push into the room to continue cleaning, and Gabbie mumbles an apology before going on her way again. She reaches the door at the end of the hall. She knocks lightly, leaning close to listen for any noise inside.

“I don’t wanna go to any of your stupid meetings,” a thick, sniffly voice calls. “Leave me alone.”

“It’s just me,” Gabbie answers, softly, caught off guard by how shattered Icarus’ voice is. “Can I come in?”

Silence for a few beats. Then, “Yeah, I guess that’s okay.”

Gabbie pushes the door open gently and eases it shut behind her. She turns to face the bed and the very undignified mound of pillows and blankets and stuffed animals that is currently the Crown Prince of Valhalla. “Hey, kiddo.”

Icarus is peeking out of the massive blue blanket he’s swaddled in. He looks even tinier than usual in the middle of all his bedding. His eyes are puffy and red, and his cheeks and nose are wet. He’s never been a very pretty crier, and the constant drip of his nose just solidifies that fact. “Hi,” he says quietly, his voice rough sandpaper.

“Can I join you?”

The boy nods and scoots slightly to the left, one blanket-bundled hand patting the space next to him. Gabbie crosses and sinks beside him on the bed. A stuffed tiger falls off of Icarus’ pile and onto the floor. “How are you, bud?”

Icarus gives her a  _ look _ , and she smiles despite herself. “Right. I know the answer to that question,” she says with a roll of her eyes for her own sake.

There’s quiet for a few moments while Gabbie stares down at her hands. She was never as good at comforting people as her other friends were. And what do you even say to a kid who’s lost both his parents before he’s even started puberty? Gabbie’s still trying to figure out what to say when two small arms emerge from the blankets and wrap around her waist. Icarus buries his face against her collarbone, tears hot against her skin. She sighs and holds onto him, leaning her cheek down onto his head. “I’m sorry, Icarus,” she whispers, because what else can she say?

“What did they say at the meeting?” he asks, muffled against her.

“Are you sure you want to hear about it?” she says, gentle.

“Yes, please.” His voice is small, but braver than she would’ve expected.

“Well, your uncle isn’t very happy about it,” she starts carefully.

Icarus manages a wet, broken sort of laugh. Gabbie smiles and rubs his back. “They’re discussing a regency until they find your mom.”

“How long are they gonna look?” the Prince pulls away from her then, golden eyes round and worried.

Gabbie hesitates, but she’s always been a terrible liar. “Two months, they said. Then they’re going to…”

“They’re gonna give up,” Icarus says bitterly, glancing down at his hands, where his claws slide in and out slowly.

“Well, I doubt Prince Will is going to give up that easily. The Queen is his sister, and I know he isn’t one to back down,” Gabbie provides.

“He will,” Icarus says softly, face still tipped downward. “He gave up the first time.”

Gabbie is silent for a few moments at that. He’s right. Queen Iris frantically enforced more extensions to the search time permitted, but eventually even she gave up after six months of nothing. Everyone eventually stopped searching for Tara. But… there’s no way that would happen again, right? Iris was the  _ Queen,  _ they had to find her. If only to make sure a twelve-year-old didn’t sit on the throne.

“Icarus, they love your mom, and they all want to find her. They just have rules-”

“No.” The Prince’s head snaps up, his pupils slits. “They don’t love her. Uncles Lucas and Will do. Your parents do. But nobody else does.” He curls his claws in the blanket as he talks; a little ball of anger. “They say she’s ruining the kingdom. They say she isn’t a good ruler like her mom. They say she shouldn’t have married Mama. They say so many mean things, then they pretend to love her when someone’s looking.” He sniffles, tears starting to run freely again. “They did the same thing for Mama.”

Gabbie doesn’t have a reply. She knows firsthand how some of the older Enlightened, and even some younger ones, treat Forgotten. It isn’t pretty. And she also knows the way people talked and talked about Tara until she was dead, then kept on talking. Maybe it’s because of the company she keeps, but she’s never heard people say those things about the Queen. She’d thought she was relatively well-liked.

Weakly, as if trying to comfort herself as much as Icarus, Gabbie says, “Come on. People don’t say those things.”

“Are you saying I’m lying?” Icarus says sharply.

“No, of course not, but… but maybe you didn’t hear what you think you heard,” she tries.

The little Prince shakes his head emphatically. “I’ve heard it so many times I can tell it back word for word. All of it.” He rubs at his face with the back of his hand. “They’re going to give up in two months. They don’t care.”

Gabbie leans forward to hug the boy again, holding on firmly as he shakes with sobs. She can’t help tears pricking her own eyes as she presses her face to the crown of Icarus’ head. Gods, what if he’s right? What if everyone gives up, and since Prince Will isn’t a reigning monarch, he can’t stretch the deadline? What if the kingdom loses its Queen forever and a child takes the crown?

Gabbie rocks Icarus as he cries, eyes drifting over his head to his desk. On it rests a picture frame with a photo of Icarus and his mother when he was about seven. He’s giggling as she plants a big kiss on his cheek. No, she can’t let one of the people she loves the very most lose something like this. She can’t let Icarus make himself miserable with too much power for his young age.

Holding him tight, Gabbie whispers, “Don’t worry, Icky, I’m here. We’ll figure this out, okay? We’ll figure this out.”

☁

She should not have agreed to this.

Gabbie stayed with Icarus for a long time yesterday, coming up with some course of action to make him feel better. She’d suggested visiting the artisan’s alley in Iron Haven, or going to the pet store, or maybe even talking to Will to see if he could reassure the crying Prince. But somehow, through the sheer power of the little redhead’s puppy dog eyes, she’d caved and agreed to a camping excursion. And now she’s standing beside a palace-owned caravan, suitcases in hand, watching Icarus fiercely hug his uncles around the middle.

Her parent’s voice at her shoulder makes her jump. “I’m glad you’re getting him out,” Avery remarks. Gabbie looks up at them. Their arms are folded and they’re also watching the young Prince with a fond smile. “I don’t think it’s good for anyone to stay in their room and suffer by themselves.”

Gabbie smiles. “Is that why you dragged me on a run every morning last year?”

Avery chuckles. “No, that was simply me torturing you.” They wink and lean over to plant a kiss on the top of her head and give her shoulder a squeeze. “Now, you be safe, alright? Keep an eye on the little bug. You know how he likes to get himself into trouble.”

“Of course.” Gabbie sets the suitcases down to give Avery a full hug. When she pulls away, her mother is heading towards her alongside Icarus, Lucas, and Will.

Oka takes her daughter’s face in her hands and gives her a kiss on the forehead. “Be careful. And keep me updated frequently. You know how worried I can get.”

“I will, Mama,” Gabbie says fondly, shouldering a pack again. “Besides, it’s only three days.”

“Three days too long,” Mama replies.

“Have fun, kids,” Sir Lucas provides with a smile. “Keep a lookout for beasts. When we were your age-”

“Yeah, yeah, you got attacked by monsters all the time, we  _ know, _ ” Icarus says irritably. The adults all get a chuckle out of it. Icarus picks up a suitcase for himself and struggles to lift it inside until Avery moves to help.

“Gabbie?”

Gabbie turns to see Will and Lucas giving her… differing… looks. Will looks a little misty-eyed, and Lucas is wearing a soft smile. “If, by chance, in that big old world, you run across Archie, say hi to her for us.”

Gabbie can’t help the stiffening of her spine at the name. She’s barely even permitted herself to think that name for the past year, and Will and Lucas hadn’t really brought it up. Until now. Trying to hide the way her blood runs cold at the realization that, oh yeah, Archie is  _ out there _ and they very possibly could  _ run into her _ , Gabbie gives a shaky smile. “Will do, Your Highnesses.”

Will nods to her, then ruffles Icarus’ hair in farewell, then turns to walk back to the palace with Lucas following behind. Oka and Avery give Gabbie one last hug each, before also retreating. Icarus swings himself up the raised step into the caravan and Gabbie follows.

Inside is enchanted to be much more spacious than the outside would have you believe. There’s a closed bedroom near the back, then a lofted bed with another underneath that are both able to be covered by curtains. There’s a bathroom, a couch, and a small kitchen space with a stove and fridge and sink. Near the door is a flickering holoscreen, which Gabbie taps on a few times to start the engine running. With a rumble, the caravan starts rolling along, towards the warp pad that will take the pair of travelers down to Pangea proper.

Icarus tosses his suitcase in a haphazard bundle on the floor near the loft, scrambling up it and flopping down. Gabbie opts to perch on the window seat and watch the scenery roll past outside. This isn’t her first time leaving Valhalla, or even her first time going without adult supervision (she remembers, with a pang, the time she and Archie were tasked with delivering a birthday gift to the Forgotten leader, Sergeant Cassia. Many shenanigans were had,) but it’s her first time going  _ as  _ the adult supervision. She glances up at Icarus, who has his back to her and is staring out the high window. She’s been tasked with keeping the boy safe for three days while they go about this little vacation. Icarus claimed it would help clear his head, and the adults seemed to think it was a good idea as long as responsible Gabbie went along.

Gabbie’s drifted off into a light sleep and doesn’t notice until something prods her in the side. She jolts awake with a squeak of terror and turns to see Icarus, looking… smug. “Okay, what’s that look for,” she asks bluntly.

He scuffs the toe of his shoe on the ground. “I told a lie.”

“Uh… pardon?”

“We aren’t gonna go camping. At least not as the main event.” He looks back up at her, beaming, oblivious to her baffled expression.

“What are we going to do instead, then?” she asks slowly. Icarus has many spontaneous, crazy ideas, and sometimes it’s best just to play along.

“We’re going to search for my mom,” he says proudly.

Gabbie nearly chokes. “What? What are you talking about? No one knows where the Queen went. And poking around is just going to stir up trouble.”

“My mom told me once that she believed Mama had been taken by this scary cult called The Bridge.” Icarus scrambles into the seat across from Gabbie, making her draw her legs up to her chest.

“The… Bridge? You mean the urban legend?” Gabbie asks, incredulous. The cult known as ‘The Bridge’ is often whispered about as a sort of  _ what if _ scenario, used as a ghost story around campfires. What if a bunch of people were so upset by the Great Revolution that they rebelled themselves, trying to perpetuate outdated traditions? What if people were so unwilling to accept good change that they clung to their hateful ideals with every scrap of will they had? But everyone knows they aren’t  _ actually  _ a thing. And it baffles Gabbie that the intelligent Queen of Valhalla would believe such nonsense.

Icarus nods, then shakes his head. “It’s not an urban legend. It’s real, and Mom thinks they took Mama.”

“She… told you this?” Gabbie chews at her thumbnail. Not that she thinks Icarus is a liar, but he tends to have a flair for the dramatic.

“Yeah. I asked where Mama could’ve even gone, because everyone in Pangea is nice and no way would they kidnap her, and Mom told me about what she thought happened.” Icarus scratches at his neck. “She said she knew people, when she was a kid, who would definitely form The Bridge, if they could. She said legends are born from truth.”

“So now you want to search for The Bridge and find your mom?”

“Hopefully.” Icarus shrugs. “If it’s not real, then it’s not even dangerous, right? I just wanna check.”

Well, he has a bit of a point. If Icarus wants to blindly chase a myth all weekend, it wouldn’t hurt him. And if it would give him the closure he needed, he’d be less likely to cook up any other harebrained schemes like this.

“Yeah, okay,” Gabbie relents. “We’ll search wherever you need to search. But if things get dangerous, we call it off and go home, okay?”

Icarus beams, and Gabbie sighs. She just can’t say no to him. “Thank you, Gabbie!”

She smiles, reaching out to brush some hair away from his forehead. “Don’t mention it.”

☁

It’s sundown, and Icarus is resting in his bunk, making light, sleepy noises now and then. The caravan isn’t very speedy -- it was made only for leisure purposes -- but they’d made good time. They’d emerged from the warp pad and traveled a couple hundred miles west so far, towards their destination of an Iron Haven-sponsored campsite.

Gabbie is still seated by the window, reading by the light of an enchanted lantern and gazing out at the way the sunset colors the sky different shades of pink, gold, and yellow. It’s all incredibly idyllic. Maybe a bit  _ too  _ idyllic.

Perhaps that’s why Gabbie isn’t massively surprised when something slams into the caravan’s side and makes it rock. It comes to an automatic halt, pitching Gabbie forward to knock her head on the window. She rubs her forehead and stands, striding to the other side of the compartment and pulling the curtains open.

There’s a beast outside. Some sort of massive beetle. It’s chittering angrily and swinging its huge head blindly back and forth. Beasts aren’t uncommon to run into out here, but the caravan is enchanted to repel them. The beetle lowers its head and rams it hard into the vehicle again, making Gabbie trip backward on the uneven floor.

Icarus sits up with a start. “What’s going on?” he asks frantically.

“A beast is trying to turn us upside down,” Gabbie informs him, gripping the couch arm for balance as she pulls herself back to her feet.

“Can’t you shoot it?” Icarus widens his eyes in worry.

“I’d prefer not to shoot animals, if I can help it.”

“It’s trying to  _ murder  _ us!”

“No, it’s just trying to tip us,” Gabbie tells him primly. “Beetles show affection by rolling each other over.”

“Does it  _ matter  _ if it’s being affectionate or not? If we tip over, the windows will break!” Icarus squeaks.

He has a point. Gabbie retreats to her suitcase and retrieves her bow and quiver just as the beetle hits them again and they buck up on only two wheels. Icarus screams. Gabbie slips across the ground to the window just as the caravan crashes back into place. She wrestles the window open and draws an arrow back, shutting one eye and trying to line up a clear shot. She lets the arrow fly and it strikes a gap in the beetle’s shell. The beast rears backward with a screech, then rushes forward with vigor. Now it’s angry.

It slams the caravan full force, and it comes dangerously close to toppling. Gabbie lines up another shot once it rights itself, but Icarus is screaming and the beetle is enraged, and the arrow bounces off its hard exoskeleton.

Suddenly, the beetle stumbles. It limps sideways, and Gabbie catches a glimpse of one of its back legs, which has been sliced clean off. She sees a blur of yellow and then the beast screeches, two more of its legs flinging off in different directions.

It may be down three limbs, but it’s still got three left, and it tosses its horned head wildly in every direction, as the other figure dances around it. In a few quick movements, its remaining legs are gone, and it crashes to the dirt, wailing. Gabbie doesn’t want to see the thing die, and she yanks the curtains closed as she hears the  _ shink  _ of metal and another cry from the beetle. Then everything’s quiet.

Icarus has crawled down from the loft and is standing behind her, fingers wrapped tight around the hem of her shirt, trembling. “What  _ happened? _ ”

“Someone saved us,” Gabbie tells him quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder for reassurance.

“Yeah, and I don’t do autographs, so don’t get all moony,” a voice calls as the caravan door swings open. Icarus and Gabbie whirl around and Gabbie raises her bow.

The person raises her hands. “Hey, hey, easy. I just saved your lives. You’re  _ welcome, _ by the way.”

Gabbie slowly lowers the bow, but keeps an arrow notched. This girl is short, with a rumpled mess of dirty blonde hair. She’s wearing a tattered jacket, and monster blood smears her cheek and the curved blade she’s holding.

“...Thank you,” Gabbie offers tersely.

“Yeah, no biggie,” the girl says dryly. She peers around the place. “Ah, you’re a bunch of fancy shits from Valhalla, ain’t you?”

“That’s very rude of you,” Gabbie tells her, lifting her bow up a bit again. The girl waves a hand.

“Hey, I’m not judgin’ your lifestyles, okay; back off, Katniss Everdeen.” She wipes at the blood on her face. “But it seems your fancy gadgets didn’t pull through.” She raps the doorframe with a knuckle. “Thing’s busted.”

“How do you know that?” Gabbie snipes.

“Lady, I’ve seen enough prissy camping vehicles come through here to know when a bitch won’t run anymore.” The girl sheathes her wet weapon. “A-a-anyway, I’ve been lookin’ for a quick buck for a while. So whadd’ya say I walk you to this place you can get help for your camper, and you pay me, mmm, fifteen crowns?”

Gabbie glares at her, but Icarus tugs her sleeve and whispers, “Gab, we gotta find clues. We can’t do that if our caravan’s broken.”

Gabbie sighs, then turns to the ratty girl. “How can we know you won’t kill us like you killed that beast?”

“Katniss, I don’t want your head, just your coins,” the girl replies smoothly. “Fork up the cash and you have my word.”

“Yes, I’m certain that’s worth a  _ lot. _ ”

The girl shrugs. “Suit yourself, then. I’ll head on back without ya’.” She winks mischievously. “Watch out for any more bugs, prissy.” She goes to swing the door shut, but Icarus lurches forward.

“Wait! Wait!” He rifles in his pockets and pulls out a bag of coins he counts carefully into his palm. He thrusts them at the girl. “Please take us to your camp.”

The girl grins, snatching the money and stuffing it in her pocket. “Aye, that’s more like it. Come on, then. Keep up.” She turns breezily on her heel and starts walking away.

Gabbie gives Icarus a look, but he’s already hopping out the door after the strange girl. Gabbie groans, rolls her eyes, straps her bow and quiver across her back, then sets off after him.


	5. Interlude: Letters to the Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters from a grieving child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAN I love me some diegetic storytelling.
> 
> cw: misgendering and deadnaming (due to being literal children), mentions of death and illness, supreme angst

_ To Mommy, _

_ Hi Mommy!!! Miss Tara said I’m  _ ~~_ sposta _ ~~ _ supposed to practise my spelling. She said to write you a letter and tell you  _ _ bout _ _ about my day,  _ ~~_acuz_ _becuz_~~ _ because you’re doing Queen stuff far far away today and you can’t see me. So I gotta talk about what I did in the cassel today. _

_ I went to the park and I ran in circles fast as I cood! I  _ _ beet _ _ beat Miss Tara in a race by so so much!! You wood be so proud if you saw me do it. Maybe I will show you my fastness when you come back tomorrow. Okay, that’s all for now! My hand is hurting and Valerian is crying so I can’t write anymore. Bye! _

_ Love, _

_ Clementine _

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

_ Dear Mommy, _

_ I am writing you this letter becuz you are sick and I am sad. The grown-ups say that I can’t go in your room and see you for a long time, so Miss Tara sad I should write to you and she will give it to you. I miss you very much, Mommy. You have been sick for a long time, like weeks long, and that is forever!! I don’t know what sickness you have, but if your tummy hurts, try to drink water. That’s what I do! _

_ The cassel is kinda quite and sad now. Everybody misses you just as much as I miss you, I think. That’s why theyre all very quite and don’t move very much. I saw 1 of the cooks crying the other day, but it was green!!! Miss Tara pulled me away beefor I could ask how they did that. I hope your sickness doesn’t make you cry green, becuz it was actually scary a little bit. But I’m brave, Mommy! Miss Tara says so. _

_ I hope you get better soon, Mommy, becuz I miss you all the time. When you feel better, maybe we can play tag in the garden again! But I’ll beet you becuz I am so fast. I love you so so so so SOOOO much!! _

_ Love, _

_ Clementine _

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

_ Dear Mommy, _

_ Me and Valerian and Miss Tara have been at her house for 1 year. It’s scary down here, Mommy. Everything is dark and smoggy, and I’m coughing so much. Me and Valerian can’t even play outside, because Miss Tara says it’s dangerous. We watch TV a lot. It’s boring. But I practice my writing lots, so it’s getting better! What do you think? _

_ None of my friends can come over to play anymore. Miss Tara says they aren’t available. But I don’t know why! Nobody goes to school anymore, and we’re all inside anyway. But I guess they’re in Valhalla and I’m down here, and we’re not allowed outside anyway. _

_ But I miss you more than I miss my friends, even my bestest friend Polly! THAT’S how much I miss you, Mommy!! I know that as soon as you get all better, you’ll come down and get us. I like Miss Tara lots, but I don’t like being stuck inside. Her house is NOT big, and me and Val have to share a room. He likes to steal my toys because we don’t have any new toys anymore. I am not getting angry with him because I know that’s not nice of me. He’s just sad like I am, so I will let him play with my toys, even my teddy. I am a very good big sister, Miss Tara says. _

_ … I hope you’re more better than you were when I saw you before we came here. You had so many green tears, Mommy, and I know I’m brave but it scared me anyway. I wish I coulda hugged you for longer, but I had to go so fast. Next time I see you I promise I’ll hug you for even longer to make up for it! I can’t wait to see you, Mommy. But for now I’ll be tough, for Valerian. _

_ Love, _

_ Clementine _

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

_ Dear Mommy, _

_ Now we live underground. It’s “for our safety”. That’s what the grown-ups all say. Miss Tara is very sad. She mostly just reads letters. I ‘unno who they’re from, but they must be mean, because they make her cry. Valerian tries to help, but he’s just little, and doesn’t really know how to. I don’t try to help, acuz I know sometimes you just need to cry. _

_ I miss going outside. It’s been a loooong time since I did, and I wanna go to the lake and feed the ducks again! But I’m  _ ~~_ fobridden _ ~~ _ forbidden. The people down here are nice I guess. They give me food. And it’s warm. But I miss you and I miss the ducks. Please come get me soon. _

_ Love, _

_ Clementine _

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

_ Dear Mom, _

_ I know I haven’t written to you in a long time. A couple years. I’ve been really busy down here. In the daytime, I have school, then in the evening, I have training, then I do my experiments at night. I’ll tell you more about those sometime. _

_ Valerian is Kiara now. I think you’d be really proud of how she’s growing up, Mom. She’s eleven, and already really tall. She trains the hardest of any of us, I think. I don’t really like fighting the other kids. I’d rather do it myself. I can go faster that way. Luckily, I have some good teachers who let me learn a lot, even alone. _

_ … I know you aren’t gonna write back. I’m old enough now to realize that. You’re gone. I asked Tara if you’d died from whatever that green stuff was, back when I last saw you. She said yes. I won’t pretend I didn’t cry a lot. _

_ But I have someone with me now. She says she can help me. She can get these letters to you -- the REAL, breathing, not-sick you. I don’t know how she does it, but I’ve seen her do weirder things. _

_ My friend says she has something she’s planning, to help you. She says you’re not truly gone, just scattered. I believe that. Sometimes, if I focus really hard, I can almost feel you, right there. So don’t worry. Me and my friend are gonna fix this. We’ll put you back together. _

_ Clementine _

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

_ Dear Mom, _

_ Tara’s dead. _

_ It happened quickly and unavoidably. She went to hunt, as we’re getting dangerously low on food, and met with a group of angry Enlightened. They blamed her for the state of things and shot her. _

_ She managed to stumble home. She’s always been really tough, but I think you already know that. She wanted to see us one last time. Kiara and I were there until she was gone. _

_ Kiara is the worst I’ve ever seen her. She doesn’t come out of our room, and cries so much she might drown herself soon. I don’t think she’s eating. Nothing I do or say is helping. It feels like trying to hold back a tsunami with one hand. _

_ I’m upset too, of course. I just… I have less to mourn, I guess. It wasn’t a secret I wasn’t the favored child. It wasn’t a secret she thought I was a let-down. Kiara insists that’s not the case, but I lived it. I know. I know I wasn’t good enough. Kiara took after her so much, and I just… I’m weird. A loose canon. I play with chemicals and read books. I snark at people and don’t have a sliver of “honor”, like they both do. I’m a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit snugly into this family, and I’ve always known that. _

_...But I miss her. Damn it. Even though we fought and I hated her sometimes, I miss her so much. She was my  _ mom,  _ for god’s sake. It feels like there’s a vacuum left behind where she’s supposed to be. Even if sometimes I felt like I’d never earn her respect, or be enough, I still wish she was here. _

_ Whatever. It’s over now and I can’t do anything about it. I just have to survive. I’m orphaned, and I’m tired, and I’m lonely. My friend’s gone away, for who knows how long. Kiara is incapacitated. Ta- Mom… is unreachable now. _

_ But I can get you back. I’ve been working on a plan for so long, Mom. I can fix this; all of this. I can do it over, better this time. I can put you back together, just like you were before. I can put  _ everyone  _ back together. Uncle Will, you, Tara, my friend. Just hold on a little longer. _

_ I’ll see you soon. _

_ Clementine _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw not sure if it's super clear but Tara does not actually think all those things of Clem, she's just distant due to grief and fear and Clem is combative in return. They didn't get along sometimes but absolutely Tara adores both her kids


End file.
